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 |   Enga mellom fjella: where from across the meadow, poems sing from mountains and molehills. |
| Dancing in the earthlight I don't care — anywhere The sky river floats above us, goes places we've never been. Can you meet me tonight? Look up at the Moon, whisper a prayer, soft, so the neighbors don't hear. Can you meet me on the far side? More private there. Not like the last time. You picked me up. We went to the airport to see a friend off. I had told you to bring a passport to get through security. You laughed and asked which one? Waiting, you wanted lunch. So we saw our friend off and then I suggested breakfast in Lisbon, waving the tickets I had bought that morning. It was fun. Off on the wings of a jet, going somewhere we'd never been. Who cares if the seats were thin and our legs were cramped and you found the food to be so-so. I thought it was lousy. At least they didn't lose our luggage, you quipped. What luggage? We went on a shopping trip in the Baixa, O Chiado, Bairro Alto. You wondered where we were staying. I don't care — anywhere I sang it, as you roared in delight. Luckily The Independente had a vacant suite. And dinner at The Decadente was superb. That night we sat in the rain at the overlook looking over Lisbon at the lit castle and Alfama. We didn't care... until lightning warned us to go back in. It was a delightful night, a delightful week. Breakfast every morning listening to Lourdes sing as she dispensed orange juice and coffee with warm milk, croissants and pears, ham and cheese. One can get use to a cheerful Brazilian face entertaining us with "La Vie en Rose", especially when sung in French, and on-key. Oh, to visit Brazil some day! We met guests from here and there. You spoke. I listened. Mostly, I was just enamored by your voice fluttering under that mop of red hair. But, Portugal wasn't private. I thought it was. Sorry about that. Great time pounding the pavement in Lisbon; until, it pounded back. My legs were so sore! It's what you wore that caught their attention. Flaming red hair the color of carnations on the 25th of April. A dress festooned with carnations. Did you know it was the commemoration of the Carnation Revolution1. You seemed so joyful as you joined the parade and dance to the video-cameras. Did you know that Leftists are considered Commies back home? Did you care? I didn't, but your colleagues did. Word had gotten out. They were in an uproar as they watched you prancing about. They melted like snowflakes on the plains of Spain... in July. Nothing you said mattered. At least they only fired you, only denied you any compensation, they didn't complain to the President or the Pope... yet. And they saved the rope for me. Thank you for the warning. I don't care — anywhere So, let's meet on the Moon this time. Fly to China, see if they have room on the next flight of the Stellar Delight. I can afford it. Freeing the bank of its capitalist burden the day before they came after me paid off. It helped to be a trusted employee with proper connections, and keys to the vault. It's all been properly laundered. No worries. And no hurry. I'd just like to see you, red hair aflame, dancing in the earthlight. © Copyright 2022 Kåre Enga [179.51] (31 juli.2022) Word count: ~580 Prompt: "La Vie En Rose": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NK9zdPj-os Footnotes |
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